Page 21 of One Wild Omega

A few minutes later, he was outside, walking away from the building and wondering if he’d just made the best decision ever.

Or the worst mistake of his life.

The cool night air helped sober him up a little more and by the time he made it to his building blocks away, he knew he’d made the right decision. After deciding that drinking to excess wasn’t in his wheelhouse, he slid into bed with a promise to stay away from alcohol for a while.

Once asleep, he dreamed of that pretty, soft mouth all night long.

* * * *

The following morning…

Tanner rushed down the stairs of Bellamy and Quinn’s house and entered the kitchen. He smelled Quinn’s delicious brand of coffee already brewing and smiled when he saw his brother loading up a tray of food for Bellamy.

“Awwww, aren’t you a good alpha?”

“It’s getting harder and harder for him to go up and down the stairs. And since the staff stayed later to clean up the party—I gave them today off,” Quinn said. He turned, the tray in his hands, looking proud of himself.

It held two pieces of nearly burnt toast, juice that looked like it was half pulp, and a plate that held…well… he wasn’t sure what that was on the plate. “Oatmeal?”

“Those are eggs.”

“Oh my gods, Quinn. Put that down and let me help you make a breakfast that won’t kill your omega.”

Quinn’s brows rose. “This isn’t…sobad.” He looked up, hopeful. “Is it?”

“Would you eat it?”

Quinn opened his mouth—likely to lie. His lips closed, and he looked up again. “No.”

“So let’s make Bellamy a proper breakfast, hmm?”

Quinn sighed and put the tray down. “I tried.”

“And you’re wonderful for making the attempt,” Tanner said as he opened the fridge to see what they could work with. He pulled out a carton of eggs as well as some milk, butter, and a bowl of leftover cut fruit from the platter the night before.

“What can I do?”

“Put a little of that fruit in a bowl,” Tanner said before searching for some tools. “Where’s your mixing bowls?”

“How should I know?” Quinn asked. “I never cook.”

Tannertskedand finally found something he could use. He broke a couple of eggs and whisked them before reheating the pan Quinn had used. Thinking better of it, he tossed the mess into the sink and searched for another frying pan. “How about you make some new, unburnt toast while I fry these up?”

“And exactlyhowdo I ensure the new slices don’t burn?”

“There’s a little dial. Turn it down one or two.” He glanced at the toast again. “Or three. Really, Quinn… you can’t even make toast?”

Quinn did as instructed and reset the knob on the toaster before adding a couple of slices. “Our parents and Grandfather always had manservants. Then when I moved out, I had a housekeeper that came in a few times a week. Occasionally he cooked for me. The rest of my meals were eaten out. We hired a cook as soon as we bought the house here. So, I never learned how to.”

“They don’t have the occasional bagel or something at work?”

“My assistant brings it to me. Prepared.”

Tanner looked at his brother. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“The little minutia of your life? Or more to the point—that you can’t dobasicthings for yourself?”

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